


Post Modern Romance

by aurora_australis



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Posties and Puns, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28877991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurora_australis/pseuds/aurora_australis
Summary: Phryne had always loved it when the mail arrived. As a small child, the possibility, however small, of correspondence from the world outside of her unhappy family was thrilling. And now as an adult she still thrilled from the arrival of the mail, the possibility of news from her far-flung friends filling her with delight each time the creak of the mail slot sounded.Of course, the new postie didn’t hurt.The "Jack is a postie AU" exactly one person asked for.
Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 48
Kudos: 104





	Post Modern Romance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whopooh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whopooh/gifts).



> So a few months ago whopooh asked for postman!jack and, because I love her (and because I thought it would be a short piece with lots of puns) I happily agreed.
> 
> Well... the puns are there at least. Can't say it stayed short.
> 
> Sörrynotsorry? 😂 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like it, m'dear. 😘
> 
> Thanks so so much to the first class Arlome, who is both an excellent beta and an amazing cheerleader. And thank you also to moreofawaltz for graciously educating me about what Australians call a postal worker (a postie) and what those workers wear (it involves a lot of fluorescent yellow).

Phryne had always loved it when the mail arrived. As a small child, the possibility, however small, of correspondence from the world outside of her unhappy family was thrilling. And now as an adult she still thrilled from the arrival of the mail, the possibility of news from her far-flung friends filling her with delight each time the creak of the mail slot sounded.

Of course, the new postie didn’t hurt.

She didn’t know his name, but he’d been delivering her mail for several months now. At first she’d merely admired his shapely calves in his uniform, but then one day, coming home from her aunt’s, she caught him leafing through one of her puzzler magazines.

“You know, you can just subscribe yourself,” she called, coming up the walk.

He jumped a little at being caught out and then smiled sheepishly as he returned the magazine to her pile.

“I do,” he admitted. “But mine hasn’t arrived yet, and I wanted to see if I was right about something in the last issue.”

Phryne regarded him thoughtfully as she walked past him to open her door.

“And were you?” she asked.

“I was,” he confirmed, handing her her small stack of mail.

“Well good job you,” she congratulated, leafing through it. “Oh dear,” she teased with a small smile as she came to the magazine. “You've creased it now.”

“Have I?” he asked, suddenly concerned.

She laughed and shook her head dismissively. “It’s paper; it will survive.” 

Phryne tossed the magazine onto the little table she kept on her wrap-around porch to emphasize the point. “I’m Phryne, by the way.”

“I know,” he replied with a small smirk, nodding at all the mail he had just delivered, addressed to her by name. “But it’s nice to finally know how to pronounce it.”

He winked — without any apparent artifice she noted with interest — turned around and ambled down the walk.

She watched his calves the entire way.

~~~~~~~

It was hot, even hotter than usual for December, but Phryne didn’t mind. She was out on the veranda, digging through some financial data she’d recently obtained, when he strode up the walk.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted, handing her the mail. “Surprised to see you out here in the heat.”

“I spent my formative years in England,” she explained. “Made me appreciate warm weather. Plus the cold beer helps,” she added, taking a sip. She nodded at her bottle. “Would you care for one?”

He shook his head. “No drinking on the job, I’m afraid.”

She shrugged. “I’m on the job too, though my rules are less stringent.” She grinned. “Which, as it happens, is exactly how I like rules to be.”

“What do you do?” he asked, with what seemed to be honest curiosity.

“I’m a private detective.”

She waited, then, braced herself for the inevitable questions or jokes or digs. The kind she always got when she told someone what she did and they felt the need to add their judgmental commentary to the statement: Wasn’t it unseemly? Did she really need to? As a _woman_?

“Oh, well,” he began, and she prepared herself to appreciate his calves a little less. “That’s a relief. For a while there I thought you were a serial killer.”

Phryne let out a surprised laugh. “What?” That was definitely one she hadn’t heard before.

“You do subscribe to some very odd publications,” he reminded her, a small smile lurking at the corner of his very lovely mouth.

“It isn’t nice to look at other people’s mail,” she reminded him back.

“It’s not? Guess I’m in the wrong profession.” The guileless wink made a return and he was off.

His calves retained their current rate of appreciation.

~~~~~~~

Phryne leaned back in her chair and waved as he made his way up the walk.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted amicably, handing her her mail. “You’re out here a lot these days.”

Phryne shrugged one elegant shoulder. “Maybe I just like a man in uniform?” she teased.

He laughed and looked down at his fluorescent yellow jacket. “Oh yes, who can resist this?” Then he rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Though, honestly, you’d be surprised at the number of women on my route that make reference to their, er, slots.”

He blushed charmingly and she gave him a long look over her lemonade. “You know, I don’t think I would.”

He rolled his eyes again and turned around, but she thought she caught the barest hint of a smirk on his lips before he did.

~~~~~~~

The next time he handed her her mail, the bundle included a small package wrapped in plain brown paper.

She turned it over. No postage or address. How interesting...

She looked up at him quizzically.

“From you?” she asked.

He shrugged a little sheepishly and nodded.

Phryne made a show of shaking it. “Early Christmas present?”

“Late birthday actually.”

Phryne stopped unwrapping to shoot him another surprised look. “How did you know?”

“Well you just got all those cards, so I sort of figured... too creepy?” he asked, clearly doubting the gesture.

“No, just the right amount of creepy,” she confirmed with a wink. She tore the last of the paper away and discovered to her delight that it was a book. A small puzzle book, actually, and vintage by the looks of it. Maybe from the ‘20s or ‘30s. The kind of thing you could pick up cheap at an odds and ends shop if you had a good eye.

In other words, not expensive, but incredibly thoughtful and appropriately personal.

She mentally added “good gift giver” to his list of attributes.

She must have been quiet for too long though, because he frowned. “Too much? I wanted to make up for creasing your magazine.”

“No, just the right amount of much,” she assured him with a smile that a few former lovers had called dazzling. “Thank you.” 

She flipped through the book for a second, before looking back up at him. “Though now you have me at a double disadvantage — you know my birthday and name but I don’t know either of yours.”

He hopped down the stairs, shoving his hands in his pockets when he hit the bottom. “You’re a detective,” he reminded her. “Figure it out.”

 _The cheek!_ Phryne thought as he hit the sideway.

She tapped her fingers on the book, as the smile turned Cheshire. Oh this was going to be fun.

~~~~~~~

“G'day!” he called heading up the walk. “And Happy New Year!”

“Thank you,” she replied, setting down her glass. “What have you got for me today?”

“A package.” She smirked and he rolled his eyes. “Don’t you start too,” he scolded, handing it over. Phryne pulled it closer to examine it and smiled at the return label.

“Good?” he asked.

“Mmmmm. From an old friend. She’s away now — Doctors Without Borders — but it seems she still remembered my birthday.”

“Better than a puzzle book too, I expect.”

“Different,” she corrected him. She nodded towards her pitcher. “It’s rather hot today — would you care for some lemonade?” He opened his mouth to decline but she cut him off. “It’s just lemonade,” she assured him. “No postal codes broken, I promise.”

He considered for a moment before nodding. “That would be nice, thanks.”

She poured him a glass, refilling her glass at the same time. He took his from her and raised it in toast. Nodding at the package, he declared, “To old friends.”

“And new ones,” she replied before adding, with an impressive click of her tongue, “ _Jack_.”

Jack sputtered on his lemonade. “How did you…”

“I told you I was a detective, but I suppose I should have mentioned — I’m very, very good.”

He smiled, conceding the point, then took another sip of his beverage. 

“That’ll teach me to challenge you,” he said, a tinge of admiration in his voice.

“Too right,” she replied. “Though… if someone from the postal service asks about how you heroically saved a koala on this block, I would just roll with it.”

Jack just laughed.

~~~~~~~

The draughts were a surprise.

And, technically, evidence.

She was outside on the veranda, examining the board, which wasn’t the one found with the victim of course — Phryne would never be so cavalier about forensics — but rather was her own board set up exactly as that one had been. 

“Who are you playing?” Jack asked, handing her a small stack which looked to be mostly bills.

She sighed. “A dead man, as it happens.”

He cocked his head to the side. “That feels a bit like cheating.”

“Well if it helps, I think he’s winning,” she countered. “I can’t… this board placement makes no sense.” Phryne leaned back in her seat, glaring at the game. “It feels like a clue, but damned if I can figure out how.”

“Too bad he wasn’t playing gin rummy or something,” Jack said, looking at the board. “Less pieces anyway.”

Phryne waved a hand dismissively in the air. “Oh, I can't abide playing cards.”

“Really?” Jack seemed surprised. “I’m quite good at cards.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t good.”

“Of course,” he chuckled, starting back down the stairs. “Good luck with your game, Phryne,” he called over his shoulder. “And let me know if you ever want to play a, you know, living opponent. Make it a fair fight.”

“Who said I ever play fair?” she called down. She couldn’t see his reaction, but she heard his snort of laughter all the same.

~~~~~~~

The next afternoon she had the board set up and ready to go.

They each took a game on his break.

“Lucky your break now coincides with reaching my house,” she said, putting the pieces away.

“Not luck,” he replied, without meeting her eye.

~~~~~~~

“And what time do you call this?” she asked, not looking up from her book. 

She could practically hear him rolling his eyes as he flung his pack down. “A thousand apologies.”

Phryne shrugged and tried not to smile. She mostly succeeded. “I’ll let it slide.” She turned a page dramatically. “This time.”

Jack chuckled as he helped himself to a sandwich and Phryne finally deigned to look up. As she did she noticed a small cooler he usually didn’t have with him. 

“What’s that?” Phryne inquired. “Planning to take home leftovers?” She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes slightly. “You do have that lean and hungry look.”

Jack’s mouth turned down and he narrowed his eyes right back. “Haha, no. If you must know, I have some medication in here and it needs to be kept cool. That’s why I’m late, actually, the pharmacy was a madhouse today.”

Phryne put her book down, suddenly concerned. “Is everything alright, Jack? Are you unwell?”

Jack shook his head. “Not for me,” he mumbled around a mouthful of ham, cheese, and mustard pickle.

Phryne raised her eyebrows, a question on her face she didn’t feel bold enough to voice. But Jack answered nonetheless.

“There’s a woman on my route, Mrs McNaster. She has trouble making it there and back every week, so I just pick it up for her.”

Phryne pulled her book to her chest, a warm smile breaking out over her face seemingly of its own accord. “That’s very kind of you, Jack.”

Jack shrugged off the compliment quite literally with a quick flick of his shoulders. “The pharmacy’s on my route too. It’s no big deal.” Then he shot her a thoroughly self-deprecating smile. “Besides, she calls me her handsome friend, so it’s mostly ego.”

As Phryne grabbed a sandwich, she found herself agreeing with Mrs McNaster; whatever else ailed the woman, there was nothing wrong with her eyes.

~~~~~~~

“I have to ask,” she said, because she’d been wondering about it for ages. “Why?” 

“Why what?” he asked, contemplating a move and chewing his sandwich thoughtfully.

“Why did you become a postie? A man like you doesn’t just fall into a career.”

“A man like me?” he repeated with a small not-quite-there smile. “What kind of man is that?”

“The kind of man who reads puzzle magazines for fun and offers obscure Shakespeare quotes when he’s picking up the mail.”

“I maintain that was a perfectly apt and recognizable quote.”

“‘ _Here, love, allow me to deliver your puissance into the hand of God_ ’ isn’t generally uttered when collecting the electric bill, Jack, and I doubt even good old Will could remember which play it was from.” He opened his mouth to argue but she cut him off by raising her hand and rushing to finish her thought. “ _But be that as it may_ , my question still stands; why did you become a postie?”

“I don’t know, I guess I'm just naturally curious about the world.”

“Precisely my point. How does your job fit into that? You must have had a reason for choosing it.”

Jack shrugged. “I like connecting people I guess.”

Phryne took a piece and raised an eyebrow. “You can connect with an email, Jack.”

“Can you?” Jack glanced up rather suddenly from the board and fixed her with a look so intense she nearly lost her breath. He pulled out a letter from the bundle — almost certainly against protocol but he was clearly determined to make a point here — and tapped it against the table. 

“This... this is real. You can see it and smell it and touch it. Look, I love email and texting as much as the next bloke, but correspondence, _real_ correspondence? That matters. It’s substantive. It’s… important.”

Jack stared down at the letter for a moment, a great sense of… _something,_ suddenly in his manner and Phryne had to fight the urge to take his hand.

"The world can be... hard, Phryne. And lonely. But this… this connects us. And I guess, I don’t know, I like helping to protect that.”

“Well… that’s me told,” she replied, unsure of what else to say. She didn’t know what she’d expected when she’d asked her question, but she hadn’t expected _that_. That sincerity and decency and openness. That… gravitas. She didn’t expect that from anyone anymore. He was a bit of an enigma, this man, with his sly winks and his naughty wordplay and his utter, honest goodness. Old-fashioned sensibilities in a liberally-minded man. Bit of a puzzle, that. 

Well… she always did like a mystery.

~~~~~~~

It was something of a stereotype, she knew, but sometimes, Phryne really just needed a good magnifying glass.

Right now, for instance.

She held the glass over the envelope and squinted, concentrating so hard on the words that she didn’t even hear him approach.

“Well don’t you look the part,” he teased, dropping to sit down in what she had come to think of as his chair. “Should I get you a deerstalker to match?”

She held up the lens in front of her face and rolled a giant eye at him. Jack laughed and grabbed the tea she’d set out for him. 

“If you must know, I’m trying to identify a postmark. And I'm nearly there. The town definitely starts with a 'C' and it's nine letters long.”

Jack leaned over and looked at the letter she’d been examining. “Might help to narrow it down to the suburbs of Perth,” he offered.

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“See the broken line here?” He pointed at the postmark. “There’s a glitch on the machine out of the main sorting facility in Perth. Makes that mark on anything heading out of it.”

Phryne pulled her cardigan a little tighter and looked up, impressed. “Well look at you, Mister Helpful. Perhaps a career in crime beckons after all, Jack.”

Jack smiled and took another sip of his tea. “Think I'll stick to the mail.” 

~~~~~~~

Jack rubbed his hands together as he took his customary seat. He poured himself some tea, still steaming in its thermos, and gave her a considering look. 

“Are you sure you’re still comfortable working outdoors?” he asked. “It’s getting awfully chilly.”

Phryne shrugged, the action moving her sweater clad shoulders up and down. “Remember, Jack, I grew up in England. This weather is like an old friend.”

“The cold never bothered you anyway?” he asked with a little smirk. 

Phryne groaned. “Really Jack?”

He chuckled. “Nephews,” he explained.

Phryne shook her head, but Jack was right; it _was_ getting colder. He’d traded in his shorts for long pants ages ago, and while she found she missed those well-defined calves, the continued company more than made up for it.

It also made the slightly less balmy working conditions acceptable.

“So what are you working on?” he asked, warming himself with the tea. He learned over to read one of her notes. “The Gaskins… a divorce?” he guessed. Phryne wrinkled her nose.

“No,” she stated definitively. “It’s a business thing. I try not to take on marriage disputes or divorce cases if I can help it. No good that way comes.”

“With marriage or divorce?”

“Both.”

“I’m divorced,” he told her, so simply he might have been commenting on the time. Phryne looked up, slightly startled.

“Oh.” She was surprised, obviously, but she didn’t really know _why_. Lots of men were divorced. She supposed she just couldn’t imagine _this_ man divorced. “I’m sorry, Jack, I didn’t know.” He shrugged, and she was pleased to see the ease of the gesture seemed natural.

“It was no one’s fault,” he said. “You know how it is, we got married too young.” He sighed slightly. “And I suppose my job didn’t help.”

Phryne raised an eyebrow. “Mail delivery can be hard on a marriage?”

He swallowed, and fiddled with his sleeve. He paused —his face a myriad of emotions she couldn’t quite name — before telling her quietly, “I wasn’t always a postie, Phryne.”

Phryne looked on in what she hoped was well-veiled shock.

He took another sip and didn't elaborate.

~~~~~~~

The detective in Phryne was desperate to investigate. His simple statement — now colouring a million other offhand remarks he’d made leading up to it — raised _so many_ questions for her. But she didn’t ask any of them. To her own surprise she didn’t go digging on her own, either. She would wait, she decided, until he was ready to share. 

And he did, eventually.

Not all of it, of course, but some. Enough.

And each story was a gift she treasured as dearly as a vintage puzzle book wrapped in plain brown paper.

~~~~~~~

His arrival that day was a surprise. 

She’d lost track of time, thought she still had ages until he’d be by, and then suddenly he was there and she wished he wasn’t.

She didn’t need to be around people right now.

Of course, he realized right away.

“Is something…” He paused, uncertain. “I can go.”

Phryne sighed and tried to smooth down her hair, mussed from running her hands through it so much over the course of the day.

“No, it’s fine.” She looked up in surprise as she took in the empty table. “Oh, I didn’t… I forgot to bring out the tea. I’ll — ”

She started to stand but Jack stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. “I can — that is, if it’s alright — I can do it.” She didn’t respond, so he added a simple, “Please.”

She nodded and Jack threw his bundle over his shoulder and walked inside. She took the opportunity to try and clean up the table a little — move some paper off, move the surveillance equipment to the side — and a few minutes later, Jack returned with two cups of tea and some biscuits. 

“I had biscuits?” she asked in surprise.

“No, ah, these are mine. From my secret stash,” he said, indicating a small pocket on the side of his pack.

“You’re been holding out on me, Jack,” she teased in a pale imitation of her usual flirting.

“A man needs to keep a few mysteries, Phryne.”

She hummed around an Anzac biscuit — which was divine actually and Phryne added “excellent baker” to the list of his many fine qualities — and nodded in agreement.

They drank and chewed in silence for a few minutes before he broached the topic. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. No judgement, no expectation. Just an honest question.

Phryne sighed again, sadder this time. “I wish there was something to talk _about_. I… I’ve been investigating this man. Well this man and his company. SWF Exports. They’re involved in a number of illegal and morally reprehensible dealings, including, I believe, human trafficking.” She looked up to take a sip of tea and realized Jack’s face had gone dark. “Do you know them?” she asked.

“Just by reputation.” Jack’s tone left little doubt as to what that reputation was.

“Well whatever you’ve heard, it’s probably true,” she said. “I’ve been investigating them on my own for months now, and I finally, _finally_ figured out where they keep the books — Madame Breda’s Spa. It’s a posh little place with a very select clientele and heavy security. Ridiculous, really, for a spa.”

“Did you tell the police?”

“Yes, but they can’t do anything on a hunch, even if that hunch is mine. So I tried to go myself early this morning.”

In his chair, Jack suddenly shot up straight. “Are you alright? Did they hurt you?”

“No,” she assured him. “But they made me. Half a block away in fact. I guess they have people constantly monitoring the street and if you’re not a client or a neighbor they don’t take any chances.” She nodded at the bugs she still had on the table, the ones she’d thought would be telling her all of SWF Exports’ secrets by now, fully charged and useless next to their receiver. “They know my face now, I won’t get another chance.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, so kindly it just made her feel worse.

“I just wish I hadn’t failed them.”

“Failed who?” he asked.

“Everyone SFW is hurting. All those families, all those people…” Phryne dashed a rogue tear from her cheek angrily. “It’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not,” he agreed, offering no additional platitudes. She appreciated that; she’d heard enough platitudes for a lifetime.

Phryne stared at her tea growing cold on the table.

“My sister disappeared when I was 12,” she said, and she heard Jack’s sudden intake of breath but did not look up to face him. “Not… different circumstances. To this, I mean. But I know what it’s like, to have someone you love just disappear. I wanted to stop this one, Jack. I wanted to stop it _so badly_.”

“You will.” The certainly in his voice then did make her look up. “You will,” he repeated. “If there’s anything I’ve learned over these past months it’s that Phryne Fisher doesn’t let anyone or anything stay in her way for long. In fact, I’m thinking of adopting a new motto.”

“What’s that?”

“What Would Phryne Fisher Do?” Phryne huffed out a skeptical laugh and Jack continued. “Really. WWPFD. It reminds me to be kind, be fearless, not let anything get in my way.”

“Oh does it?”

“Mmmmm. Ever so useful too, with, you know, inconsiderate motorists and insurance claims. Rowdy footie fans...”

Phryne gave him a smile, sad though it was, and shrugged. “Yes, well, I’m not so sure it’s useful now.” She sighed. “And I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I don’t know why I told you about my sister. I never tell anyone about that.”

Jack reached across the little table and squeezed her hand. “I’m glad you did.”

They sat like that, quietly, for a few minutes before Jack spoke again. “SWF Exports… you’re sure about them, right?”

“I am,” she replied without hesitation. “But the authorities need evidence and I’ve failed to get it for them. Rather spectacularly, if that goon’s warnings are even close to accurate.”

“Because you can’t get close enough to the property without being noticed?”

“Correct.”

“Phryne.” he began slowly, but with growing resolve. “Do you know who no one ever notices? Posties.”

Phryne’s head whipped up. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“It’s too dangerous. You’re a civilian!”

“ _Now_ ,” he reminded her. “And I can still handle myself, I promise.”

Phryne gave it about five seconds of thought before shaking her head vigorously. “No. Thank you for the offer, Jack. Truly. But I can’t involve you in this.”

Jack didn’t respond except to release her hand and slide his arm back across the table.

He looked so disappointed, she almost reconsidered.

She didn’t notice her bugs were gone until it was too late.

~~~~~~~

At half eleven the next morning the transceiver squawked to life and began recording. 

The bugs, which only transmitted when there was sound above a certain decibel to save battery, were picking up a conversation between Sidney Fletcher and one of his top lieutenants. 

Phryne stared at the surveillance equipment — which she’d rather unceremoniously discarded on her vanity last night after quite a bit of whisky and which she now realized was incomplete — in surprise and horror.

What had Jack done…?

She sprang from bed and dressed quickly — thankful her lie-in had apparently prevented a hangover — listening in to the conversation the whole time. For being famously tight-lipped in public, Sidney Fletcher sure did like to yap when he thought he was away from prying ears. Already she had three new leads to pursue. She grabbed a pen and started taking notes. 

She didn’t stop until her mobile rang half an hour later.

Reluctantly, Phryne reached over to answer it, knowing she could go back over the recording later. But she knew the caller and this could be important.

“Dot!” she said cheerfully. “How are you?”

Dorothy Collins was a young constable with the Victoria Police who Phryne had taken a shine to. The girl was kind and smart, with good instincts, and, as long as she followed the right examples, would go far. 

Today, though, she sounded nervous.

“Hello Miss Fisher — ”

“It’s _Phryne_ , Dot. We’ve been over this.”

“Right. Hello Phryne. I’m calling because… well do you remember when you asked me to let you know about anything unusual related to Madame Breda’s Spa?”

“Of course,” Phryne said, a cold feeling suddenly settling in her blood. “Did something unusual happen?”

“You could say that. A man was killed there this morning.”

~~~~~~~

Phryne walked into the police station in a sort of daze, the details of the call swirling around in her mind.

_...tall, uniformed man... crashed motor car… unlikely an accident… still searching for the driver._

Phryne shook her head to clear it and walked over to where Dot was sat. She coughed to get the girl’s attention, who jumped up with a start. Glancing around furtively, she grabbed a file folder and led Phryne around the corner to a quiet alcove. 

“Just… keep this to yourself, alright, Miss? I shouldn’t be showing it to you. Motor vehicle accidents aren't even my department.”

“Please, Dot,” and Phryne was proud of how even her voice sounded. “I just want to see him.”

Dot nodded and pulled out a photo. Phryne stared at it for a minute.

“Who is this?”

Dot shrugged. “We don’t know yet. No ID. But I think the uniform could be helpful if — are you okay, Miss Fisher?”

“Fine,” Phryne lied. “Just fine.” She straightened her spine and looked down once more. “Yes, we can definitely get an ID from that. Let me just grab my laptop…”

~~~~~~~

When she arrived home, he was seated on her porch, totally at ease, like nothing had happened.

Like her entire world hadn’t been set akilter today.

He smiled as she reached him and she acted on instinct, slamming her open palm into his shoulder.

Jack yelped in surprise and moved to rub his arm. “Ow! What the hell was that for?”

“What were you thinking?!” she shouted. 

“Oh I see they work,” he said, his hand dropping down as a guilty little smile formed on his face. “Have you got anything good yet?”

“Have I… a man was killed outside the spa this morning, Jack!”

The smile disappeared immediately. “Oh my god… not because of the — ”

“No. Unrelated as far as I can tell. An ex-bouncer at one of Fletcher's other properties. But that’s not…”

She trailed off and closed her eyes.

“Not what?” he asked gently.

She opened them again and met his eye.

“Not the worst part.”

“Which was?”

“I thought it was you,” she said quietly and his face crumpled a little. “And when I thought it was you, I found it…” Phryne searched for the right word. “Unacceptable.” 

She took a deep breath and continued. “I care about you, Jack. Very much. And I think I should have told you sooner.”

Jack reached out and took her hands. “I care very much about you too, Phryne. And I am so, so sorry. I didn’t mean… I was careful, I promise. And I — ”

Phryne didn’t let him finish. She acted on instinct.

She kissed him.

And he kissed her right back.

And they only stopped when a passing car’s horn reminded them they were, in fact, outside her home.

“Are you off today?” she asked.

“I am, actually.”

“Good. You should stay for dinner.”

Jack grinned. “Okay.”

“And breakfast.”

“O… kay.”

“And then we should probably talk.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Talk _after_ the, uh, the breakfast?”

Phryne huffed. “It’s been a very upsetting day, Jack, let’s not quibble about the details now.”

“Good point.” Jack kissed her again and Phryne fumbled for her keys. She just managed to open the door without breaking contact and pulled him inside. Phryne closed it behind them and Jack pulled back to cup her cheek with his palm.

“Thank you,” he said. “For being brave.”

“Yes, well, I’m not the one who infiltrated a criminal stronghold this morning armed only with my fluorescent yellow invisibility suit.”

The soft look in his eyes remained. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” she admitted, a little uncomfortably. This part… this part wasn’t exactly her strong suit, she could admit. But she could work on it. He was worth working on it, she thought.

“Well, WWPFD, right?” she teased pulling him down to kiss his jaw.

“God I hope the answer to that is about to be Jack Robinson,” he muttered against her neck and she cackled at his unexpected cheek.

“I wouldn’t worry,” she assured him. “The postman always comes twice, Jack.”

He pulled back to look at her with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. “That’s not the saying, Phryne.”

"It could be. If you play your cards right."

It turned out, Jack _was_ quite good at cards.

~~~~~~~

**EPILOGUE**

Phryne woke up to soft lips trailing along her spine. She smiled sleepily and rolled over to face the man in her bed.

“Good morning,” she said, delighting as the lips found their way to her collarbone.

“Good morning.” Jack placed his hand on her waist and stroked softly, but to her incredible disappointment when she attempted to direct it lower, he pulled away.

“Work,” he explained regretfully. 

“Can’t someone else deliver the mail today?” she inquired, hooking her foot behind his leg.

“Funny you should ask that,” he said. “I have that new bloke with me all day. All month actually.”

Phryne searched her memory for the boy’s name. “Oh, it starts with an H… Hugh, right?” 

“Ten points to the lovely lady in the ridiculously large bed.”

“If you’re going to mock my bed, you can get right out of it.”

“I would never mock this bed. This bed and I are old friends. This bed has _seen things_.” He waggled his eyebrows at her and she laughed. “Am I forgiven then?” he asked.

“Provisionally,” she told him, her tone as imperious as possible given she was entirely naked.

“Would an early birthday present help cement it?”

Phryne sat up suddenly at that, excited, and Jack laughed at her exuberance.

She closed her eyes and held out her hands and he reached under the bed. She felt something being placed on her palms and she opened her eyes to find a small rectangle wrapped in plain brown paper.

She smiled.

Like a child she opened it with abandon, but stopped when it revealed something curious; a letter mounted in a simple black frame.

“Jack?”

“Read it.”

She did.

_“To the Honourable Phryne Fisher:_

_Dear Miss Fisher,_

_With this letter, we are pleased to issue to you a special commendation from the State of Victoria, for efforts above and beyond in the cause of justice…”_

It went on to list some of her work on the state’s case, but that’s not what Phryne cared about. What she cared about were the names — fifty so far, but she knew the list got bigger every week — of people who had been hurt by Fletcher’s operation who were now safe.

“Jack…” she whispered.

“I still know some of the right people and just passed along what you’d done.” He pulled her closer to his side and held her tight. “WWPFD? Save the whole goddamn world if she got the chance, I think. I’m just glad I’m not the only one who can see it.”

Gently she placed the frame down and turned to kiss him, pulling back only far enough to rest her forehead against his when they broke apart.

“You,” she said, “really are an excellent gift-giver.”

“Well, you know, I’m a postie.” Jack shrugged, completely straight-faced. “It’s all in the delivery.” Phryne groaned and flopped back down to the bed.

“Provision revoked,” she informed him. “You, sir, should have left that one undelivered.”

Jack looked down at her with a worrisome twinkle in his eye.

“You know, I used to tell a lot of jokes about undelivered mail. But no one ever seems to get them.”

Phryne grabbed her pillow and swung it in his general direction. “Out,” she told him. “Now.”

Laughing, Jack stood up to get dressed and Phryne placed the pillow over her eyes.

“Are we still allowed to stop by for lemonade?” Jack asked from somewhere in the vicinity of the dresser. “Or am I banned on account of being hilarious?”

“You may,” she said from beneath the pillow. “If only because I need to train up this new fellow in case I snap and murder you for your puns.”

“Fair enough.”

“Oh! I forgot though — Dot will be here.”

“That’s fine,” he replied, from somewhere closer now. “Maybe they’ll entertain each other and we can get a session in.”

Under the pillow, Phryne smiled. “Do you want me to get out the draughts board?”

Jack’s lips found her knee poking out of the sheets.

“Who said anything about draughts?” he asked.

Hidden by the pillow, Phryne’s smile turned positively wicked.

What _would_ Phryne Fisher do?

Poor Jack was very much about to find out.

And he was absolutely going to be late for work.

**Author's Note:**

> "Let us deliver Our puissance into the hand of God" is from _Henry V_.
> 
> Also, the working title of this was "Wait a Minute Mister Postman" which I mention only because it meant that that song has been in my head for weeks and I wanted to share that special joy with you. 😂


End file.
